


'tis the damn season

by bettycooopers



Series: twelve days of barchie [4]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Based on a Taylor Swift Song, F/M, Post-Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:35:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28280997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettycooopers/pseuds/bettycooopers
Summary: you could call me babe for the weekend'tis the damn seasonA Taylor Swift inspired "we're dating, but only during the holidays" AU told in five parts.
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper
Series: twelve days of barchie [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066289
Comments: 5
Kudos: 64





	'tis the damn season

**Author's Note:**

> day four! this has been rattling around in my brain since evermore got released, and it just came out...incredibly long. 
> 
> obvi, thank you to the true moose, [becca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/packedyoursaturday), who took a hacksaw to this story even though it is still somehow longer than when we started editing. merry christmas, beech! 💕

_we could call it even_ _  
_ _even though i’m leavin’_ _  
_ _ & i’ll be yours for the weekend _

–

_i._

Betty and Archie are friends again, come December. 

Archie doesn’t know that, necessarily, yet – but Betty stands on his doorstep, poinsettia in hand, snow in her hair, prepared to share the good news. They’ve talked a few times – nothing too major (topics included her classes, his training, and their newfound mutual affinity for whiskey sours), but still, they’d kept it civil. 

They haven’t seen each other since the end of the summer. Archie hadn’t been able to get away for Thanksgiving break, and Betty hadn’t tried to make any weekend plans with him. It was too hard, after everything. 

At least, she’d assumed it would be too hard, so she hadn’t bothered trying at all. 

Anyway, she’s here now, which should count for something – and her mother says you shouldn’t show up somewhere empty handed, so...poinsettia. She clutches the small pot in her hands and shivers a little – it’s not quite _freezing_ yet, but it’s snowing today and she hadn’t bothered to put on her warm coat just to walk next door.

It takes Archie an annoying amount of time to get to the door, and she’s craning her neck to peek into the front window when she hears the doorknob jiggling. She nearly tips backwards as she sees Archie in the doorframe and hears him clear his throat. “Betty?”

“Hi,” her voice sounds breathless, even to her own ears. “Hey, Arch.” She sucks in a breath as she takes him in – it’s only been four months, but he looks different...different enough that she needs a minute to study him. His muscles are more defined, his hair is cropped close to his scalp, his eyes look more tired than she remembers them. He looks like Archie, of course. Just, well...different. Both better and worse, in different measures. She realizes she’s just been _staring_ at him and shakes her head, holding out the little poinsettia in her hands and tapping her fingers against the sides of the pot. “This is for you,” she says, looking up at him. He’s got a perplexed look on his face and she clears her throat. “I...it’s Christmas, and all.”

Archie takes the poinsettia and opens the door, letting her walk past him. “Where’s your coat?” He shuts the door and locks it, setting the plant on the small side table she’d helped him stain once when they were in fifth grade.

“Oh,” she lets out a laugh, shrugging. “I didn’t think you’d take so long to answer the door.”

“Betty, it’s _snowing,”_ he chuckles, frowning. “It’s cold, you should wear a coat.”

“Yes, the fifty feet between our houses was a lot to cover,” Betty snorts, rolling her eyes at him. She steps a bit closer, poking him in the chest, raising a brow, “Maybe if you’d been a little quicker, I wouldn’t have been so cold.”

Archie lets out a low chuckle, narrowing his gaze – if she didn’t know better, she’d think he was annoyed...but she can see the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips. “Yeah, well, maybe if I’d known you were coming over, I wouldn't have been in the middle of a movie.” 

“You’re saying that _me_ at your doorstep is less interesting than a movie?” Betty puts on a faux-pout, shaking her head. “Wow. I thought we were friends, Arch.”

Archie bristles a bit, in a way she doesn’t recognize. “Depends on the movie,” he shrugs and rocks back on his heels. “Do you want something to drink?”

She isn’t able to get an answer out before he’s heading towards the kitchen, and Betty follows, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She watches as he rummages around in the fridge and wonders if maybe this is going to be a bit rougher than she anticipated. “I’m good, Arch,” she says at the same time that he pulls a pitcher of water out of the fridge. He holds it up, his brow raised. “Oh. Yeah, yeah. Water...works.”

Archie nods, moving around the kitchen in silence. Betty sits down on one of the stools at the counter, resting her elbow on the countertop, her chin in her palm. Archie’s back muscles jump under his tight t-shirt as he reaches into the far depths of the cabinet for glasses. She watches, feeling her head tilt a little bit, her tongue poking out from between her lips. 

It occurs to her, somewhere, that friends don’t stare at each other the way she’s staring at Archie right now, but...well. She swallows, ignoring that thought because she and Archie are _friends,_ and that’s why she’s here at all. She’s here to tell him that everything that had happened between them at the end of the school year had been ridiculous, and they needed to put it behind them – because their friendship, the one they’ve had since they were _four,_ is more important to her than whatever tried to get between it. 

It’s certainly more important than the way Betty feels when she looks at Archie’s back, rippling underneath his t-shirt...Archie’s arms, muscles flexing against skin...Archie’s neck, Archie’s hair, Archie’s jaw...Betty swallows as he turns around and sets an empty glass in front of her, grabbing the pitcher and pouring some water into her glass, then his own. 

“So,” Archie clears his throat, grabbing his glass. She watches his fingers, making prints on the cool glass. “You’re home?”

Betty nods, pressing her lips together as she lifts her glass up to her mouth. “I got here yesterday,” she says around the rim, then takes a small sip of water. “Late, though.” 

“How long are you here?”

“Two weeks,” Betty chews on her lower lip, then lets go of it and stares into her water. “You?”

“Just through the weekend,” he says, his voice soft. “I...I was going to take longer, but my mom can only stay a couple days, so,” he shrugs. “Figured there was no reason for me to hang back on my own.”

Betty frowns, wanting to argue with him and deciding against it. “Well, you were my first stop today.”

Archie furrows his brow at her and she takes another ginger sip. “Did you bring the poinsettia with you?” Betty rolls her eyes, cracking a smile and letting out a soft laugh. “I’m just saying, if I was your first stop,” he chuckles, trailing off.

“Okay, my second stop,” Betty amends, setting her glass on the countertop. “I wanted to talk to you.” Archie nods, but he’s not meeting her eye. “I wanted to talk to you about...us, Arch.”

Archie shuts his eyes and lets out a slow breath. She watches as he sets his hands flat against the countertop. “Okay,” he says, his voice low. “Wanted to cut to the chase, then,” he flicks his eyes up to her, focusing on her cheek, “huh?”

“I…,” Betty shrugs, combing fingers through the ends of her hair nervously, “when have we ever needed _small talk,_ Archie?” He nods, but still doesn’t meet her gaze. She waits a long few moments, then bites on the inside of her cheek. “I want us to be friends again, Arch.” 

She keeps her eyes on his face, watching as it shifts – he’s annoyed, he’s concerned, he’s confused, he’s angry, he’s deflated, he’s...still not looking at her. “Not that we stopped being friends,” she continues, wanting to fill the silence. “I’m just saying, we haven’t been...as close, since everything. And I’m not okay with that, I’m...I want us to be _us_ again, you know?” She’d rehearsed the words in her head several dozen times on the train home from New Haven, and not once had they sounded as hurried and panicked as they did coming out of her mouth right now. “I...I miss my best friend.”

“Betty,” his voice is low and he swallows, keeping his eyes down. “I,” he sighs out a breath, then looks up at her, meeting her eyes. “I miss my best friend, too.” She feels her eyes soften, and she’s about to wipe her hands clean of the whole thing – it’s settled, they’re best friends again – when he continues. “But I can’t just be your friend anymore. I...I don’t _want_ to just be your friend.”

Betty sucks in a hard breath, sliding off the stool and crossing her arms over her chest. “You don’t _want_ to be my friend?” Her voice sounds childlike and she hates it. She feels her eyes growing wide and wet, her cheeks heating up, and she turns her face away from Archie, hoping he won’t be able to see it. “You don’t want to be my friend anymore?”

“That’s not what I said,” his voice is way closer than it had been before, and she turns to find him standing right behind her. She can feel his breath on her skin, could practically reach out and touch his newly hardened muscles. She wants to step away, but she feels frozen in place. “That’s not what I said and you _know_ it, Betty.”

“You said you don’t want,” she sucks in a breath, trying to make her voice sound less _insane._ “You said you don’t want to be my friend, Arch.”

“I said I can’t _just_ be your friend, Betty. If I could just be your friend,” he lets out a dry, sad laugh, “if I could just be your friend, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“We’re not _in_ a situation,” Betty frowns, crossing her arms more tightly, letting out a hiccuppy breath. “We’re friends. I told you, we’re friends again.” 

“Betts,” he sets his hand on her forearm, his hand heavy against her skin. “We…,” she looks up at him and sucks in a breath at the look on his face – he looks torn, and sad, and...something she doesn’t quite recognize. “Of _course_ I want to be your friend,” he lets his fingers brush over her elbow and she hates herself for shivering, “I want to be your friend more than anything in the world. I’m saying, I don’t think that’s _all_ I can be anymore.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Betty lies, badly. She shuts her eyes because she can’t look at him when she knows he knows she’s lying, but turns her face so he can see her clearly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes,” he has his hands on her before she can move, his palms pressed into her upper arms, holding her still. “Yes, you do, Betty.” 

She’s not sure if she kisses him or if he kisses her, but she does know that standing in the Andrews kitchen, her back digging into the kitchen island, her lips on Archie’s, his fingers in her hair, isn’t a bad way to spend a few minutes. “We can’t,” she breathes against her lips, pulling him closer into her, “we can’t, you know that, right?”

“I don’t know anything,” Archie chuckles, lifting her up and setting her on the counter. Betty wraps her legs around him to keep him close, scratching her nails against his scalp as she kisses him again. He nips at her lower lip and then pulls back, sliding one of his hands up to her cheek, shaking his head. “Why can’t we?”

Betty shakes her head and pulls his mouth to hers, wrapping her legs tighter around him and kissing him deeper, letting all her thoughts from earlier and all their words from earlier fade until all she can think, or know, or feel is Archie.

He carries her up to his bedroom, mostly because she won’t let go of him long enough to walk up the steps on her own. Her shirt gets dropped in the hallway, and she’s got his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped before he sets her down on the bed. 

Her fingers trace his muscles and she groans as she feels his lips on the sensitive skin of her neck, his teeth scraping lightly against her collarbone. She’s not thinking rational thoughts, but if she were, she’d tell him that the army has really done him well, body-wise. He lifts her up and she whines, but he’s pressing down on top of her and his lips are against her skin and his hips are rocking against hers and the only thing she can muster is, _“Arch,”_ and, _“please,”_ and, _“fuck,”_ until they’re coming together, his fingers laced with hers, his breath ragged on her neck. 

It’s exactly how her first time was supposed to be with him, with the addition of several years. Still, she pulls her fingers through his hair the way she had always thought she would, letting out a light giggle as he traces his fingers over her bare waist. “I can’t just be your friend, Betts,” he breathes out into her skin after a long few minutes of silence. “You know that.”

Betty lets out a soft whine, pulling her tight against him and shaking her head. “I can’t just be your friend, either,” she whispers, opening her eyes and finding his eyes. “I know that.” Archie nods. He pulls out and she lets out a soft groan, rolling onto her side and letting him pull her into him, slipping her hands up his chest and wrapping them loosely around his neck, her fingers intertwined against the base of his head. “Especially _now,_ Arch.”

Archie lets out a slow, breathy laugh. “Yeah,” he murmurs, kissing her gently. “Yeah, I know.”

“What are we supposed to do,” she shakes her head, “I...I’m never here. You’re _really_ never here,” she drags her thumb beneath his earlobe, smiling at the sound he makes. “We’d be stupid to...for this to be…,” she shuts her eyes, leaning her face against his. “This is _us,_ we can’t fuck it up with long-distance.” She can’t believe the words that are coming out of her mouth, given that two hours ago, she’d been attempting to plot out easy conversation topics for them. Archie nods, but doesn’t say anything. “What?”

“You’re right,” he shrugs. “I hate that you are, but you are.” He sighs out a breath, shaking his head. “I don’t want anyone else, Betts. It’s not...I mean, I’m on base. It’s not like I’m _meeting_ anyone else, and–,”

“Arch,” she cuts him off, shaking her head. “I…,” she swallows, opening her eyes and searching his face. “How about when I’m here, I’m yours. When...when we’re home,” she traces her thumb over his lower lip, “I’m _yours,_ alright?”

Archie thinks about this. She can see it in his eyes, him rolling the thought over in his mind. He leans his face into hers, speaking so his lips brush over hers as he does. “You’re mine,” he murmurs, “when you’re here, you’re mine?”

Betty swallows, finding his eyes and feeling her lips twist into a soft smile. “Yours,” she laughs, her voice soft, “s’long as you’re mine, back.”

“Never wasn’t yours, Betts,” he murmurs, and she figures they’re done talking, then, because he rolls onto her and slides his hand down to press against her hip. 

–

They don’t have a lot of time before he has to leave for North Carolina, which is why Betty is truly shocked when he hands her a wrapped gift – a _nicely_ wrapped gift, to boot – over the table at Pop’s. She’s got half a milkshake left in front of her and a plate of fries, but she pushes both of them to the side and raises her brows at him. “Did you just have this?” 

They’ve spent the past few days (when they haven’t been busy with Christmas and their families) tangled in Archie’s bed, making sure they’re both aware that they are deeply, intimately, each other’s...at least when they’re in Riverdale. She’s not sure if she’s going to hear from him when she’s back in Connecticut and he’s out at Fort Bragg...and for some reason, she’s kind of okay with that. It nags her in the back of her mind – of course, it’s Archie, she wants to hear from him...but knowing she has some kind of claim on him? Even just _some?_ For some reason, it’s all that matters right now. 

“I may have snuck out for it,” he shrugs, snatching a fry off of her plate. “You were napping.”

“That’s rude,” she frowns. “Leaving me while I’m _napping,_ not very gentlemanly.” 

“I never claimed to be one of those, Betts,” he chuckles, nodding his chin at the box. “Open it.” 

She holds the slender wrapped box in her hands, turning it over a few times before sliding her finger under the seam of the wrapping paper, pulling it open. She unwraps it carefully, setting the paper on the table and then opening the velvet box, smiling with soft eyes as a thin gold chain with a tiny ‘A’ sits on the padding, shining up at her. “An A?”

Archie smiles, and she watches the tops of his ears turning red. “I just thought,” he chews on the inside of his cheek, “I just thought it would be...something to remind you of me. You don’t...you don’t have to wear it, when we’re not,” he swallows, looking up at her. “You get it, right?”

Betty reaches over the booth, her fingers pressed against his wrist. “I love it,” she smiles, her voice soft. “Of course I get it.”

“Good,” he breathes, and she can see the relief coloring his features.

“I just wish I’d known you were getting me something,” she pulls the necklace from the box, fastening it around her neck and raising her brow at him. “I would’ve...sprung for some festive lingerie...gone out while _you_ were napping.”

Archie chokes on his last sip of milkshake and Betty lets out a laugh, pressing her fingers against the ‘A’ that sits right above her collarbone. “Next year, okay?” He chuckles, once he’s recovered. 

When she kisses him goodbye, she tries not to let herself melt when he leans down and presses his lips to the necklace, too.

_ii._

He watches through the front window as Betty’s cab drops her off at the end of the driveway and she sucks in a breath of fresh air as the driver grabs her bags from the trunk, a soft smile on her face as she takes in the Cooper-Jones house with its pristine decorations.

She texted him and let him know when she’d be home – they’d talked more, this year, but it was still less than he’d been used to in the past. She’d text him from a party and say she missed him, and he’d call her when he had time off to ask her about her classes while he strolled aimlessly around Walmart. Sometimes he found himself wondering what would happen if she’d come to visit him, or if he’d show up on her campus...but then it would dissipate, and he’d remember that _Riverdale_ was their place. 

It’s funny, because he’d always figured Riverdale would be her place with Jughead. Still, it felt right that Riverdale was theirs...it had been theirs in the first place. 

Anyway, he’d known she was supposed to show up today because they talk, sometimes. He hadn’t known about the cab – he would have offered to pick her up from the train station, if he had – but he watches as Alice makes her way outside and hugs Betty, grabbing one of her small bags and wrapping her arm around her daughter’s shoulder as she leads her into the house.

He’s excited to see her, but he figures he’ll give her a few hours to get herself settled in before he heads over and knocks on the door. They have longer, this year – they’ll both be in town for two weeks, and he’s glad for it. He wants more time with her, and they need it, this year.

He’s been trying to find the best way to tell her that he’s re-upping for another three years – he’d thought maybe doing it over the phone was tacky, or insensitive, or something. He figures he’s just _nervous,_ but it’s also Betty...he thinks she probably deserves to hear it in person. So, he needs to tell her, at some point. 

The thing is, this thing they have...it’s not going to change, or anything. He’s just...going to keep doing what he’s been doing – so, it’s fine...that’s what he keeps telling himself, at least. 

Archie sighs and checks his phone, then sets a timer for two and a half hours. He figures by the time it goes off, that’ll have been long enough, and he can go knock on her door without encroaching on her time with her family. 

About ninety minutes pass before he’s cancelling the alarm and shrugging on his coat. He’s too nervous, too excited. He just wants to see her. She’s his best friend, after all. He makes his way over to the house and knocks on the door, three curt, swift knocks, then takes a step back. 

It all happens in a flash – Betty swings the door open, squeals, and she’s got her legs wrapped around his waist, her face pressed against his neck, her hot breath on his skin as she murmurs, “Hey, you.” 

“Hey,” he chuckles, brushing his thumb against her back, “hi.” 

She slides down onto her front step, leaning up and kissing him without any hesitation. “Merry Christmas, Arch,” she murmurs against his mouth, and he smiles, lifting her back up against him.

With her in his arms, he’s not really sure why he was nervous in the first place.

–

He doesn’t have a Christmas tree – mostly because he’s only been here for a few days, but also because he doesn’t really see the point in getting one when his mom is only coming back for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Betty truly cannot handle this, and though he isn’t surprised, the level of reaction she has is...well, slightly overwhelming.

“You’re not _not_ having a Christmas tree, Arch,” she says, her hands on her hips. She’s wearing his t-shirt and the way she has her hands planted on her hips is making the shirt ride up a bit. It’s not really _helping_ in terms of focusing on the words coming out of her mouth and he figures she can notice, by the way she clears her throat. “Eyes up, soldier,” she chuckles, crawling back into his lap. _He’s_ not wearing anything and he slips his fingers beneath the shirt, pressing his fingertips against her hips. “You need a tree.”

“I need _you,”_ he shakes his head, pressing his lips to her neck. “I don’t need a tree, I can just look at your mom’s.”

“Don’t talk about her,” she mumbles, pressing her hips down against his and letting out a soft laugh, “in this bed, Archie.”

“Noted,” he murmurs, slipping the fingers of one of his hands a bit higher, grazing her ribs. “I still don’t need a tree, though.”

 _“Archie,”_ she whines, and he knows he’s a goner. He still lets her try and convince him the old fashioned way, though.

They go to a Christmas tree farm later that afternoon, Betty bundled in her warm jacket and a scarf, Archie opting for a lighter coat – if he’s going to have to lift up an entire tree, he’s going to sweat. He buys her a hot apple cider and smiles as she holds the cup up to his lips to let him taste it, then leans into his side. “We have to pick the perfect one, okay?”

“I’m sure you will,” he mumbles against the top of her head, kissing the crown of it. “I’ll just be the muscle, alright?”

“You’re going to _help,_ Arch, it’s your tree.” Archie frowns and shakes his head. “It _is._ ”

“S’your tree, really,” he chuckles, shrugging, “it’s just going to live at my house. You can come visit it anytime you want.”

Betty laughs and leans up, kissing his chin before she looks out at the trees and hums softly. She inspects several – he’s not sure what the qualifications are, exactly – before holding her arm out next to a large, fluffy tree with snow dusting its branches. “That one,” she peeks over at him, “don’t you think?”

He nods, walking around the tree and pretending to survey it. He knows, knew before they even got here, that whatever she picked would be perfect – but he still goes through the motions so she’ll think he’s really checking it out, because he knows her, knows that’s what she wants.

They get the tree into the back of his truck, and he straps it down with the help of one of the salespeople before hopping into the cab and turning on the heat. Betty slides close to him, settling under his arm as he drives them back into Riverdale, stopping at the flea market so Betty can buy a bunch of lights and matching ornaments. He tells her they _have_ ornaments, somewhere, but she shushes him and tells him she’d rather him not have to go rooting around in the attic, so they settle on some new silver and blue bulbs with white lights.

Betty hums along to the Christmas music as they make their way to the register and Archie pulls out his credit card when they get to the register – she seems happy, so that’s really all that matters.

They get the tree set up in its stand and he helps Betty untangle the lights and wrap them around the tree, then place the ornaments in all the spots she tells him are the right ones. “You’re good at this,” Betty murmurs, letting her hands slide over his t-shirt clad back as she passes by after placing a few ornaments near the bottom of the tree.

“Learning from the best, clearly,” he chuckles, turning and pulling her in with his free arm, kissing her softly. “S’almost like I’ve never decorated a tree before, that’s how different your process here is.”

“I’m an expert,” she mumbles against his lips. “Incredibly particular.”

“So I’ve heard,” he grins, and lets one of the ornaments fall to the ground and roll away so he can hold onto her with both hands.

–

Archie hears a knock on the door on the morning after Christmas, and he’s not totally sure who it could be. His mother had left the night before, Betty would just let herself in the side door, and anyone else he’d expect to see in Riverdale would never show up at his house at – he checks the stove clock – 7:48 in the morning, so he’s feeling a little stumped as he shuffles to answer it. 

Instead of a stranger or a police officer or any of the other scenarios he’d made up in his head, he opens the door to find Betty on his doorstep, wrapped in a flimsy looking jacket, her hair and makeup done. She smirks at him. “Ever heard of the side door, Betts?” Archie chuckles, perplexed.

“I had a delivery,” she shrugs, stepping through the doorway and standing with her back to him. He shuts the door and yawns, scratching at the back of his neck and frowning. “A late Christmas gift.”

“Kind of early,” he mumbles, and then she turns around and her jacket’s open and she’s wearing a sheer red teddy with white fuzzy trim. Archie doesn’t remember what the rest of his sentence was going to be, but it doesn’t matter even in the slightest because _Betty_ is standing in front of him in _lingerie_ and nothing else.

“Oh, did you want me to come back?” Betty quirks a brow at him and Archie lets out a sound he’s not sure he’s ever heard himself make before. She lets out a giggle and his throat goes dry. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” he mumbles, shaking his head and stepping towards her, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her against him. “You really think you’re going anywhere?”

Betty shakes her head and he walks her into the living room, pulling her into his lap on the couch and groaning as she slides her fingers beneath his shirt, her nails scratching at his chest.

He watches her peel the lingerie off slowly, not letting him touch her until all she’s wearing is her tiny ‘A’ necklace.

–

Betty’s stationed on Archie’s floor in his t-shirt a few days before he’s supposed to head back to Fort Bragg, belated Christmas presents for the twins, wrapping paper, tape, and scissors laid out in front of her. Archie’s sitting at his desk, strumming his guitar and trying to figure out how, exactly, he’s supposed to tell her he’s re-upping for another three years.

He can tell she’s different, this Christmas. He knows it’s probably because they have more time this year – they’ve been together more often than not, and having her here has been better than he could have imagined. They’re more comfortable with each other, like this, now that they’ve eased into it. 

The thing is, it’s only like this when it’s here – it can’t be like this when they’re apart. He can’t reach over and brush his fingers against the back of her neck while they’re lying in his bed, her smile against his chest the only telltale sign she’s awake. She can’t lay her head in his lap and pretend she’s not about to fall asleep while they’re watching a movie. It’s too hard when they’re apart – he’s sure they both know it, that it’s the reason they both tried to maintain some semblance of distance this year, while they were away. 

Archie knows Betty well enough to figure that she _has_ to feel the same way – that as much as he wants her all the time, they wouldn’t _have_ each other, not like this, with all the time and space between them. There’s just no way they wouldn’t just be _sad_ all the time, that they wouldn’t just be missing each other too much to function. He already misses her too much, and she isn’t even his for more than a couple weeks a year. She has to know, doesn’t she?

He watches as she cuts the wrapping paper carefully, making sure it’s measured perfectly before she takes the scissors to it, making sure the folds are perfectly creased before she tapes it down. He sets his guitar down on the side of the bed and slides to the edge, leaning down and kissing the top of her head. “You’re good at that,” he murmurs against her hair, and she sets the scissors down, leaning back into the foot of the bed and pressing her hands down against the tops of his feet. 

“I’m alright,” she smiles, her eyes closed. She rubs her hands over his skin and he breathes out a sigh, dipping his face down and breathing in the smell of her hair, letting it wash over him. 

“You’re better than alright in my book,” he mumbles, and he smiles as she abandons the half wrapped presents and stands up, sliding into his lap. He presses his lips to the curve of her neck and smiles against her skin as she slips her fingers into his hair, scratching at his scalp. 

They’re quiet for a long moment, and then she kisses the shell of his ear gently and murmurs, “There’s this thing at Yale,” softly against his skin, and he feels his heart sinking. “It’s...it’s stupid, just this music festival they do on campus, and it’s...well,” she lets out a little laugh, “I don’t know. It’s called the Spring Fling, and I...I thought of you last year when I went, and I,” she breathes out slowly, pulling her head up and slipping her fingers down along his cheek, “is there any way you could take leave for it, maybe? Come see me?”

He keeps his eyes closed as he lifts his head and then opens them, looking up at her and feeling the way her breath dies in her throat. “I would, Betts,” he breathes, “I...I would, I’m just,” he trails off, sliding one of his hands up and pressing his fingers lightly to the side of her neck. “I’m re-upping, is all. I don’t...I don’t know if I’m gonna,” he shuts his eyes as he feels her fingers squeeze tightly against his shoulder.

“For how long, Arch?” Her voice is harder than he likes, and he opens his eyes and finds hers, holding her gaze. “How long?”

“Few more years,” he says, swallowing. Betty shuts her eyes and hangs her head. “It’ll...it’ll be just like this year, Betts. Just...we’ll...it’ll be the same, that we’re together when we’re home.” She nods, pressing her face against his neck and he feels her letting out a slow, steady breath. “Baby,” he murmurs, dragging his thumb along the back of her neck, “nothing’s gonna change.”

“I know, Arch,” she sighs against his skin. “That’s...that’s the problem.”

Archie shuts his eyes and pulls her close, shaking his head and wrapping his arms tighter around her. He maneuvers them to the bed, sliding his hands beneath her shirt, pushing it up until she’s got no choice but to help him get it off her. He pulls his own shirt off and tosses it to the ground, feeling her pushing his sweatpants down with her feet, kicking them off when he’s able to. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes against her mouth as he pushes into her, and he feels her nails dig into his back, her hips lifting to press up into his. “I’m so sorry, Betts.”

“Don’t,” she whines, keeping her eyes closed. He rocks his hips into hers and she lets out a gasping, wet breath, wrapping her arms tighter around him. He kisses her slowly, pressing his tongue into her mouth as he fucks her, slow, deep. 

She comes with his name on her lips and her nails digging into his shoulder, and he buries his face in her neck as he spills into her, his body sagging against hers after a long moment. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers again, and she shakes her head. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she breathes, her voice raw. “When we’re here, I’m yours...that’s what we agreed on.”

They both pretend her tears don’t trail down to his skin, even though he wipes her face with his thumbs and kisses her gently, his eyes soft. 

_iii._

Betty doesn’t mean to be waiting for him at her front door, but she just happens to be standing there when the buzzer goes off, and there he is, standing in front of her, snow in his hair.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he grins, wrapping his arms tightly around her and pressing his face to her neck, his lips against her skin before she can even register that it’s _Archie,_ spinning her around. Not that she knows another redheaded man that’s supposed to come pick her up from her New Haven apartment and drive her back to Riverdale, but...well, it could be anyone.

“Hi,” she grins up at him when he sets her down, resting her hands against his chest, tapping her fingers lightly against his biceps. “You look,” she swallows, looking him up and down, “you actually look _bigger_ than you did in the picture from the other day. Is that possible?” Archie rolls his eyes at her, but he has a smile on his lips as he trails his hand down the curve of her waist.

“I had to leave something for you to see when I got here,” he mutters, leaning down and pressing his lips to hers softly. Betty leans into him, wrapping her arm around his neck and pulling him closer. 

“Arch,” she breathes against his lips, managing to push the door closed behind her. She laughs against his mouth and tips her head back, letting out a little groan as he presses his lips to the hollow of her neck, his fingers pressing into the small of her back. “We’re supposed to _leave_ here, not,” she interrupts herself, letting out a soft whine as he scrapes his teeth against her skin, “we’re not supposed to _stay,_ babe.” 

“You told me I was getting a tour,” he mumbles against her skin, “I was promised a tour, I demand a tour.”

She giggles as she pulls herself away from him, pressing her palms against his chest to try and hold him back for a long second so she can catch her breath. They’ve talked more in the past year than they have in the last two, combined, and the feeling of having him actually, physically in front of her is making her heart pound in her chest a little harder than she thinks it should.

She’d thought she’d keep her distance, after last Christmas. He’d left before her, giving her two long days in Riverdale on her own to wallow, staring at his darkened bedroom from her window and sleeping for sixteen hour spans. He’d texted her a few times, but it wasn’t until she was back at Yale that she’d answered him to let him know she was fine, thanks, and they didn’t have to talk about it. 

_‘the thought that you’re mad at me is tearing me apart’,_ he’d texted her, and she’d slapped her phone down on her bed, face down. She’d waited until it buzzed again to flip it over, _‘it won’t be like this forever, ok? i promise, betty.’_

It won’t be like this forever. She’d slept on it before she’d answered him, a simple, _‘If you promise, I believe you. I’m not mad. Just miss you.’_ which had opened the floodgates – he missed her too, his training for this new mission he couldn’t talk about was hard, he wished he could come see her place, did she like her new roommate...it went on, and on, and on. It had lasted the whole year, the two of them talking whenever they got a free moment, even FaceTiming when they could. 

He’d said things wouldn’t change, but they had – and she liked things this way. He seemed to, too, sending her photos of his base and the guys in his unit, letting her see little pieces of his life and asking her for pieces of her own in return. 

She hadn’t said anything to him, but she could tell he felt the same way she did – like she had her best friend back, and then some.

He’d started pestering her for a tour of her apartment around Thanksgiving, and she’d promised it in the beginning of December (she wasn’t one to drive a hard bargain), as long as he’d come and pick her up from school. She dreaded the train ride, and she knew he’d be home before she would – it was the least he could do. 

Plus, if he came out to Connecticut they’d get an early start to their time together – and a private one, at that.

Now, she slips her arms up and locks her wrists around his neck, tapping her fingers against the base of his neck. “I promised you a tour,” she murmurs, standing up on her toes and kissing him lightly on the lips, “so I’m gonna give you a tour.” She laughs as he presses his face into her neck, sighing and scratching her nails against the back of his head. “You don’t want one anymore?”

“Tour of your bed,” he mumbles, slipping his fingers under her sweater and humming against her neck. “That’s the tour I want.”

“Ah,” she lets out a soft laugh, smirking as she pulls his face up and presses her thumb to his lower lip, _“that’s_ the tour you want, hmm?” Archie nods, pressing a kiss to the pad of her thumb and then pulling her hand from his mouth, lacing his fingers with hers. 

“That’s the tour I want,” he grins, and she feels her face going soft as he rubs his thumb against hers, squeezing her hand.

“Well,” she pulls him with her, grinning at the way he leans into her, his lips pressing to her neck as they make their way down the hall. “I’m not going to say no, not when you’re a guest.” She presses herself back against her bedroom door, pulling her against him and reaching over, grabbing onto the doorknob as his hands slip further beneath her shirt.

“Very polite,” he mumbles, lifting his head and kissing her lightly. She smiles against his lips and opens the door, stumbling backwards into the room and giggling as he gets her pressed down onto the bed almost immediately. 

She wraps her arms around his neck and lets out a soft moan as he pushes his palms flat against her skin, sliding her shirt up and ducking his head down, pressing his lips to her bare skin. “Arch,” she whines, lifting her head, “I’m up here.”

He laughs and slides his lips further down her body, humming against her skin. She groans, lifting her hips as he tugs at her skirt, and slides her fingers into his hair, instead. If this is how he wants to start their Christmas together, she’s not going to say _no._

She comes embarrassingly quickly against his tongue and he slides up onto the bed with her, pulling her into his side. He grins as he kisses her with wet lips, then pulls her onto him. She straddles his lap and feels the flush in her cheeks moving down to her neck. “What about you,” she murmurs, pressing her palms flat against his chest, then sliding her fingers up until they reach his cheeks. She holds his face in her hands and brushes her thumbs over his cheeks. He shakes his head and pulls her down, kissing her gently. 

“Later,” he mumbles against her mouth, flipping them so he’s on top of her, his leg between hers. “Me later... _us_ later, ‘cause we gotta get on the road soon.”

“Timely,” she murmurs, her lips on his. “I like that in a driver.” He chuckles, nodding softly as he traces his tongue over her lower lip. They make out like kids, laughing and biting and breathless, Betty’s fingers in Archie’s hair, Archie teasing his palms against Betty’s skin, until they’re both out of breath and Betty pulls his face against her neck, feeling her necklace press into both his cheek and her neck.

Archie nips at the skin of her neck and she whines as he rolls off of her, then stands up. He looks around the room and hums in interest at a few things she figures he must recognize, and she watches him notice it – the photo of the two of them she has in a frame on her dresser. He steps past it, then plucks it off the dresser and inspects it – it’s a selfie of the two of them at the Christmas tree farm last year, Archie’s face tilted against hers, Betty smiling at the camera. “That’s me,” he grins, holding the photo up and looking over his shoulder at her. Betty nods, a laugh in her throat. “That’s me?”

“That’s you,” she shrugs. “It’s a good picture.”

“You have a picture of _me_ in your bedroom?”

“I’ve always had a picture of you in my bedroom,” Betty raises her brow, letting out a soft laugh. _“Pictures,_ even – more than one. That’s not new.”

“But it’s me and you,” he looks down at the frame in his hands and she smiles at the soft look he has on his face. “I like this one.”

“Me too,” she slides off the edge of her bed, grabbing her skirt and tugging it on before she wraps her arms around him from behind, pressing her face against the back of his arm. “We take a good photo.”

“I’m gonna need one of these,” he sets the frame down, then turns around and wraps his arms around her. “Can we print another one?”

“At home,” she nods, standing up on her toes and kissing him. “When we get there.”

–

They’re only a half hour outside of New Haven when Betty sees a billboard on the side of the road that she reads off aloud, “Annual Greenwich Reindeer Festival,” she squints, “exit 31, 15 miles on 15 South.” 

Archie has his hand in a bag of chips that are resting in Betty’s lap, and he pulls one out, popping it into his mouth. _“Reindeer_ festival?”

“I’m looking it up,” Betty laughs, leaning her head onto his shoulder and scrolling through her search results. She reads a little about it, then takes a look at the photos available and gasps. “Arch, they have _real_ reindeer there. _Real_ ones.”

“Reindeer are real?” He flashes his blinker and gets out of the left lane, into the middle. “And they have them?”

“Yeah, they’re real..and you can feed ‘em,” she supplies, still reading, her brow furrowed. “They also have apple cider donuts.”

“You had me at real, Betts,” he chuckles, grabbing another chip and then tossing the bag onto the bench seat next to Betty, slipping his hand onto her thigh. “Donuts are just an extra layer of excitement.”

Betty laughs, grinning at him and leaning up, kissing his cheek gently. “Donuts,” she mumbles against his skin, _“warm_ donuts.”

“Warm donuts,” he mumbles, grinning and following the signs for exit 31. They pull off the highway and find themselves parked in a flattened patch of grass, in the glow of Christmas lights and decor. “Oh, my god,” Archie chuckles, raising his brows at her, “it looks like your mom did this.” 

“Stop,” she laughs, but slides out of his grip and across the bench seat, letting herself out the passenger side door. She loops her arm with his as they walk into the festival, which is more of a little fair attached to a farm than anything else, squeezing him gently. She smiles up at him, catching the way the lights hit his hair, reaching up and carding her fingers through it. 

He leads her through the festival on a mission, and she grins at the way his face lights up when he finally sees the reindeer. The animals are huge, and look nothing like what she assumes Archie thinks reindeer look like, probably based on cartoons. “Holy shit,” he mutters, squeezing her hand, _“look_ at those things.”

“They’re enormous,” she laughs, shaking her head as he pulls her towards the fenced off area where the reindeer are eating. Archie laughs and pulls out his phone, snapping a few close up photos and chuckling when one of the reindeer goes to bite his hand. “Arch, back up,” Betty laughs, pulling on his arm. “God, you’re like...five,” she shakes her head, grabbing his phone out of his hand and slipping it into her coat pocket. “Before you get this thing swallowed.”

“I’m hardly five,” he laughs, shaking his head, “I’d be _in_ that cage with them if I were five.” Betty leans her head against his arm and rolls her eyes, knowing he’s right. Archie scoops up a little bit of the food in the trough and a handler walks him through feeding the deer, and Betty watches as his face lights up in childlike delight as the reindeer licks at his hand aggressively. 

She sneaks her own phone from her jacket and snaps a few photos of him, instead of the animal.

–

They’re back on the road for another thirty minutes when Archie feels Betty’s fingers slipping higher on his thigh, and he clears his throat. “What’s,” he chuckles, raising his brow, “what’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to his neck, “just was thinking I should...you know, return the favor from earlier. I mean,” she shrugs, “you took me to see _reindeer,_ Arch.”

Archie lets out a low laugh and grins down at her, her fingers pressed lightly to his belt buckle. “Who are you,” he mumbles, “and what exactly have you done with my best friend?” He feels Betty frowning against his neck, and she bites on his earlobe in retaliation. Archie lets out a low chuckle. “There she is,” he mumbles, sliding his hand over her knee and giving it a light squeeze.

He’d expected things to be a little more tense than they were – not that they’d been tense throughout the year, but he wasn’t sure, exactly, where they’d stand in person after how they’d left things last year. The second he’d seen her, though, standing in her doorway wearing a sweater and a skirt that was too tiny not to peel off, he knew they’d be fine – better than fine, maybe. Good, even. This was their season, after all. 

He lets out a slow breath as she unbuckles his belt, her fingers pressing lightly against his abdomen, her lips still firmly against the shell of his ear. “Baby,” he mumbles, sliding one of his hands off the wheel and sliding it over her fingers. She whines against his ear, and he can feel her frowning.

“Let me,” she murmurs, and he swallows. Sure, road head sounds great – if he’s being honest, he’s never gotten road head before, so there’s something kind of thrilling about the idea – but he’s about to cross the Tappan Zee and while he thinks it’s unlikely, careening off the side of bridge doesn’t really sound like a great plan. He’s pretty sure if the crash didn’t kill him, Alice Cooper would. 

“Betts,” he sighs, squeezing her hand. “When we’re back, okay? On a road I’m used to.” He feels Betty deflate and he shakes his head, “I don’t wanna crash the truck ‘cause you’re good at giving head, babe.” Betty slides away from him and he watches her lip jut out in the tiniest of pouts from the corner of his eye. He lets out a low sigh, shaking his head. “Betts,” he looks over at her and she looks out the window, turning her face away from him entirely. 

He checks his mirrors and puts on his blinker, keeping his eyes straight ahead when she sits up. “What are you doing?” She asks, looking over at him with her brow furrowed, “keep driving.” He ignores her, instead pulling off into a rest stop right before the bridge and parking in a secluded spot, shielded by some trees. “Archie, seriously,” she frowns at him. “The moment is over.”

“Fuck that,” he mutters, shaking his head and unbuckling his seatbelt, then pushing his pants down before pulling her into his lap, “moment’s never over.” She lets out a whine as he slips his fingers between her legs, his other hand pulling up her skirt. He leans up, kissing her roughly, pressing his tongue into her mouth and groaning as she sucks at his. He tugs at her lacy underwear, groaning as she reaches down and wraps her fingers around his length far too lightly for his liking. 

He tugs on her panties so hard that he hears them tear, and she lets out a loud moan against his mouth, her hand squeezing around him. “Fuck, Arch,” she breathes, biting down on his lower lip, _“fuck.”_

“M’trying,” he mumbles, and he helps her lift herself and sink down onto him, both of them grounding out low moans as she rolls her hips down against his.

It’s fast and it’s dirty, and before he knows it’s happening, he’s spilling into her and rolling her clit between his fingers, feeling her tightening around him as she moans his name into his ear. She slumps against him and presses her lips to his neck, and he slides his fingers up against her bare back, tracing his thumbs along her spine. “See,” he mumbles, “I just don’t like to come without you.”

“Shut _up,”_ Betty laughs breathlessly against his neck, lifting her head and shaking it as she takes his chin with her thumb and forefinger, lifting his face so she can kiss him, slowly and purposefully. “Good save,” she breathes against his lips, and he’s about to fight her when she squeezes his chin gently in between her fingers. “Don’t ruin it, okay?”

–

Betty’s sleeping on his shoulder as they roll into town, past the welcome sign and down the main road. He wraps his arm a little tighter around her shoulders and she cuddles further into him, pressing her face up against his neck and letting out a sleepy little sigh. He leans over and kisses the top of her head. 

Something occurs to him, as he laughs to himself about how Riverdale is still nicknamed “The Town With Pep!”, for some reason. He thinks about what she’d said last year a lot – too much, probably – when he’d told her he was re-upping: _there’s nothing to be sorry for – when we’re here, I’m yours...that’s what we agreed on._

 _When we’re here_ had always meant when they were in Riverdale, before. It had been a thing of convenience, probably, more than anything – they were both in such different areas that Riverdale was the only place their lives really converged anymore. It was the only time they were both in the same spot at the same time, and able to truly be _together..._ or at least, that’s what he’d thought. 

He stops at a red light and looks over at Betty, remembering what it had felt like to walk into her apartment earlier. Sure, it was a new space – her space – but it had felt familiar...like Betty, herself. He’d known he was hers, there – that she was his, too. She’d had a photo of him in her bedroom – a photo in a frame, a photo of them _together._ He’d known she was his as they’d walked through the reindeer festival, as she’d crawled into his lap in his truck, as she’d moaned his name and clung to him. 

They’d belonged to each other outside the confines of this town, and it had worked just fine. Better than fine, even. Betty stirs against his shoulder and he opens his eyes, easing his foot off the break and rolling through the now-green light, swallowing as he drags his thumb over the curve of her shoulder. 

Regardless of the fact that they’re here, now, he takes some kind of stock in the fact that the woman sleeping on him, her lips pressed lightly against the side of his neck, has been his since New Haven, and will _be_ his for the rest of the week, at least.

_iv._

Betty rents a car in Raleigh, which is a whole thing because she’s not twenty-five yet and there are all these _rules_ about renting cars when you’re not twenty-five, and drives the hour and a half to Fort Bragg, excitement buzzing through her the entire way. 

The flight itself had been quick – under two hours – and she felt like she might take off all on her own as she’d fidgeted in the line at the rental car place, packing her suitcases into the trunk, and programming her GPS to get her there. Christmas in North Carolina has never really been something she’s dreamt of, but when Archie had told her that he wouldn’t be coming back to Riverdale this year after taking a lot of his leave over the summer so he could be in Chicago with his mom during some medical procedures, she hadn’t hesitated to keep it in mind.

Christmas was their time – it was as simple as that.

Thankfully, her mother and FP had planned to visit Jellybean in London for Christmas, since her winter break was too short to fly back to the States. Betty had feigned a bit of disappointment, if for nothing else, so her mother wouldn’t really probe about her plans. The idea that she was flying out to see Archie and spend the holiday with him would invite questions, and Betty didn’t really have answers...at least, not answers she wanted to give Alice.

Anyway, she rents a car in Raleigh and makes the drive, breathing in the crisp fresh air with the windows half rolled down and the heat pumping. She’d texted Archie when she’d gotten in the car, and her phone has buzzed about twelve times since she started driving, so she’s pretty certain he’s excited to see her. He’d booked her a hotel on base, which was apparently an incredibly big deal according to the internet, and she was nervous – a good nervous, but still...nervous. 

They’ve spent the entire year talking, again, but this time it’s become an amalgam of phone calls, and FaceTimes, and texts, and DMs...she wakes up to voicemails from him about early training, and sends him middle of the night texts when she’s finishing out her papers in the glow of her laptop. They talk about everything, the way they did when they were young, before everything and everyone interfered in their relationship...and she’s grateful for it. 

Archie is hers, again...even if he’s not, in the traditional way. This works for them – for her, specifically, too, because she’s got so much up in the air right now, with school ending. Them being clear, but hazy, is exactly what she needs at the moment...he’s someone to fall back on, but he’s not waiting for her at home. 

She pulls onto the base and presents all her documentation, a security guard giving her directions to the hotel. She follows, pulling in and parking, leaving her heavier bag in the trunk for Archie to grab later. The hotel has a decked out Christmas tree in the front lobby, and she can hear traditional carols being piped through hidden speakers. She hasn’t felt like it’s Christmas, just yet, but the smell of the tree mixed with the sound of the music washes over her, and suddenly, it’s here. 

She’s so wrapped up in the idea that it’s _time_ that she doesn’t see him coming out of the elevator – she doesn’t see him until he has his arms around her and he’s lifting her into the air, pulling her against him tightly. “Hi,” he grins against her ear, and Betty squeaks, grabbing onto his forearm and holding it tightly, laughing as he sets her down. She wraps her arms around him, pulling him down into her and kissing him slowly. Her head swirls, and she doesn’t know how he does this, but every time they kiss she feels like no time has passed, and no time is moving, either. 

“Hi,” she laughs against his lips, kissing him once more softly before he pulls back. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry,” he kisses her between his words, “Christmas.” He’s managed to check into her room for her, already, and he helps her onto the elevator, letting her keep her clothes on until they have the door shut and locked – a kindness, she’s pretty sure, in his book. 

She looks around her room after a few hours, wrapped in a sheet that she has pulled up to her chest – more for herself, than for him...she doesn’t mind if he sees her completely naked, but she’s a little cold. She hadn’t noticed, earlier, because she’d been distracted by him – by his hands, by his mouth, by all of him – but he’d decorated for her. There was a small Christmas tree in the corner with colored lights and tiny red and gold ornaments, white lights framing the fireplace in the corner of the room, and some garland hanging around the window frame. She peeks over her shoulder at him, raising her brow as he slips his arms behind his head, leaning up against the headboard. “You did this?”

Archie shrugs. “I had a free morning,” he chuckles. “Wanted it to feel like Christmas, for you.”

Betty shuts her eyes, making her way back to the bed and abandoning the sheet, wrapping her arms around him as she crawls into his lap. “You make it feel like Christmas,” she breathes against his mouth, her tiny ‘A’ necklace dangling down and brushing over his skin. She shakes her head softly, “The rest is just spectacle.”

“I know,” he shrugs. “But you _love_ the spectacle,” he murmurs, and Betty lets out a breath.

She’s reminded of just how much she loves him and lets the thought pass as she hums softly. “I _do_ love the spectacle,” she grins, kissing him gently. “Thank you.”

“Course, Betty,” he laughs, slipping his fingers into her hair and pulling her closer.

–

Archie drives the rental car – mostly because Archie knows where he’s going, but also because Betty likes to ride shotgun when it’s all said and done – out to Southport the day before Christmas Eve. She’s not sure why he’s so excited about going to this dumb little town when they could be holed up in her hotel room, a fire going in the fireplace, their clothes on the floor...but he seems _excited,_ so she tries to be, too. 

Southport, it turns out, has Christmas boats. Archie doesn’t mention this, but Betty finds it online as they’re driving the two hours down 87 south, and she knows right away that _that_ is why they’re taking the ride. She reaches for his hand over the center console, and smiles as he laces his fingers with hers and pulls her hand to his mouth, kissing her fingers. “You like it out here?”

“I don’t hate it,” he shrugs, a soft smile on his face. “I like it a lot more when you’re here.”

“I’ve only been here a day, Arch,” Betty laughs, leaning her face against the car’s headrest and keeping her eyes on him.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, “I’ve had a better day with you here than any of the ones without you...so that must mean I like it a lot more when you’re here.” She smiles at him, her eyes soft, and shakes her head. 

They park close to the water and Archie feeds a parking meter while Betty looks around, wrapping her jacket tighter around herself. It’s colder near the water, and she shivers slightly as her hair blows around her face. Archie pushes it out of the way and kisses her cheek gently, smiling against her skin. “C’mon,” he chuckles, “I’ll show you around. This is where I come when I have days off and I just...want to think, y’know?”

Betty leans into him, letting him lead her down the long main drag along the beach, curving into a tiny marina at the end of the road. Colorful wooden buildings litter the shoreline, and on the water there’s a huge line of sailboats, all with bright Christmas lights wrapped up their masts and around their sails. “What do you think about?” she asks, her voice soft as she leans up, kissing the bottom of his chin. 

Archie shrugs, rubbing his hand along Betty’s arm to try and keep her warm. “All kinds of things,” he chuckles. “I call you, sometimes.”

“So _that’s_ why it sounds familiar,” Betty laughs, then smiles up at Archie, who’s looking out at the boats proudly before he turns to her. “They’re pretty, Arch. Festive.”

Archie shrugs, “I wanted to show you somethin’ that’s...like my life, out here. That’s not on base,” he leans over, kissing the side of her head, “that I...somethin’ I do, you know?” Betty nods, leaning up and kissing him gently.

“You wanted me to see you,” she practically whispers, and she feels Archie nod against her hair. “I see you anyway, you know...even without the boats.”

He gives her a light squeeze, because he doesn’t have to tell her he knows, already.

–

They sit in the glow of the fire on Christmas Eve after walking around the base, Betty wearing Archie’s t-shirt, Archie wearing his own sweatpants, a spread of fast food between them. Betty takes a bite of Archie’s burger when he’s not looking, setting it back on the plate in front of him and laughing when he narrows his eyes at her. 

“You’re gonna steal my food, ma’am? I’m not giving you your Christmas gift,” he mumbles, grabbing a handful of her fries and dropping them onto his plate. She raises her brow at him, laughing as she chews.

“You got me a Christmas gift?” Archie frowns at her, and she lets out a laugh. “I got you a Christmas gift.”

“Oh,” his face softens, and she rolls her eyes at him. Betty crawls over to her suitcase, lifting a few pairs of pajamas she knew she’d never wind up wearing and pulling out a slim, square present wrapped in candy cane wrapping paper. “You didn’t have to, Betts.”

Betty rolls her eyes, handing it to him, and he holds up a finger. He gets up and grabs something off the small hotel room table – how had she not noticed it there? – handing it to her and scratching at the back of his neck as he sits back down, pulling his own gift into his lap. “You go,” she smiles, jutting her chin towards his present. “It’s nothing major.”

Archie smiles, not needing to be told twice as he yanks at the paper to tear it open. She grins as he uncovers the picture frame – the photo he’d liked of the two of them last year, in her apartment, smiling back at him. “You liked that one,” she shrugs, “and we never got you a copy.”

He grins up at her, then looks back down at the photo, “Thanks, Betts,” he murmurs, setting it down next to them where he can see it. He nods his chin to her gift, raising his brow. “Your turn.”

She grins down at her own present – clearly in a rectangular box, and she wonders if he bought her _clothes_ or something – and unwraps it carefully, laughing when he’s too excited and starts bouncing a little. She pops off the lid of the white cardboard box and feels her face soften, her eyes going wide. Folded in the box is a sweatshirt she recognizes immediately, _his_ sweatshirt from years ago, the Riverdale High emblem silk screened across the front. She can tell that it smells like him from where it sits in her lap. She’s stolen it dozens of times over the past few Christmases, but he’s always found it and taken it back, citing that it’s his personal Riverdale relic. She smiles down at it, then looks up at him. “Mine?”

“Yours,” he nods, a smile on his lips. “Looks better on you, anyway.” 

She pulls off his t-shirt and tosses it over to him, replacing it with the sweatshirt and crawling into his lap, ignoring the mess of food on the ground as they crawl into bed.

–

He has staff duty the day after Christmas, and she wakes up at 4:30 to watch him get ready. He pulls his Army greens on, messing with his hair in the mirror as he hums to himself, brushing his teeth as he leans back against the bathroom counter and grins over at her, still in bed, sheets pulled up over her chest. 

She presses her lips together, watching him, but something buzzes in her head – something not focused on the way he looks, but focused on the way he _is_ , focused on the fact that this is _Archie Andrews,_ her best friend in the world. Archie Andrews, the man she’s known since she was four years old, standing here, wearing a uniform like this. Her heart aches at the sight of him being such a grown _man_ – at the fact that he’s truly an _adult,_ and he’s still here with _her._

She shakes the thoughts of him being hers out of her head, pressing it back into her pillow. “You look nice,” she yawns, as he leans over and kisses her forehead. “Professional.”

“Thank you,” he chuckles, pressing his face against her cheek. “You’re gonna go back to sleep, right? S’early.” She nods, leaning up and kissing him chastely, not wanting to pass along her morning breath. “Good. I’ll come back,” he grazes his thumb along her cheek, “soon as I can, okay?” 

“Okay,” she breathes, trailing her finger down, tracing them along his collar.

“Okay,” he grins, tipping her chin up and kissing her again, then leaning his face against hers for a long moment.

–

They’re getting dinner on the night before she leaves when one of his commanding officers happens upon their table, his own family in tow. She watches Archie go rigid and stand up, saluting the man and then, with a little smile, his kids, before she stands herself and gives a shy smile. 

“This is Betty, my,” Archie says, and Betty swallows, peeking over at him. 

He doesn’t get the chance to say anything else, because the commanding officer shakes Betty’s hand and introduces himself, his wife, and his kids. “So, Andrews,” the man says, once they’ve sat back down, “last Christmas in Fort Bragg. How does it feel?”

Betty doesn’t hear Archie’s answer, because her ears are rushing and her vision is blurry. Last Christmas in Fort Bragg? She swallows, trying to focus her eyes and keep the smile on her lips, but she can feel it faltering. Archie’s face is red, and she feels her own flushing, too. He’s talking, and the commanding has his eyes on her for a moment, then looks back to Archie, giving him a curt nod as the family walks away, and Betty offers a lame, “bye,” before turning and settling her gaze on Archie. 

The waitress comes over to take their order, and by the time she’s gone, Archie has his hand on hers and starts in on a long story about his mom. Betty swallows, narrowing her eyes at him. Are they seriously ignoring this? The way they ignore all things that aren’t simple, cut and dry? Betty doesn’t want to let her mind wander, but she does for a long moment – she thinks of all the moments he’s seemed off on this trip, the ones she’s been doing her best to ignore: the stilted way he’d rebuffed her questions about re-upping, the way he’d been more excited to show her things _off_ base than things _on_ base, the way he’d asked her tons of questions about finishing school, but practically refused to answer anything about _his_ future plans.

In separate incidents, it had seemed like nothing – maybe he just didn’t _know_ yet, but now she knows that he _does_ know. His last Christmas in Fort Bragg? She lets the thought into her brain: maybe he’s getting deployed, maybe he’s going to _truly_ be gone. 

Still, she goes along with the silence through dinner, even all the way back to her hotel room, watching him light the fireplace and toe off his shoes, unbuttoning his shirt as he makes his way over to her on the bed. “You’re quiet,” he mumbles, tilting her face up and kissing her gently. 

Betty shrugs, pulling at him so he’s laying her down on the bed, his arm planted next to her head to keep him up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lies, leaning up and kissing him, slipping her arm around his neck to pull him down against her. 

She pops the rest of the buttons on his shirt, pressing her hands against his chest and dragging her nails against his skin, slipping her tongue into his mouth and pressing hers against his. She shoves at him and he lets her flip them, settling herself in his lap as she tugs at her dress. He helps her get it over her head and she leans down, pressing her chest against his, kissing him slowly as he presses his fingers against her bare skin. He nips at her neck as she sinks down onto him, rolling her hips slowly and trying to ignore the pressure behind her eyes, ignore the fact that they both know there’s something _looming,_ for them. 

He has his arm draped over her waist and she’s pretending to be asleep when he presses his lips against her neck and murmurs, “are we going to talk about this, or no?”

Betty frowns, tensing against him and letting out a slow breath. “Are we going to talk about _what,_ Archie?” Archie’s fingers tap lightly against her stomach and she blinks her eyes open, keeping her eyes fixed on his hand. “About...about how you’re leaving?”

“Betty,” he breathes, and she can hear a laugh in his voice.

“Don’t _laugh_ at this, Arch,” she shakes her head. “That’s fucked up.”

“Betty, he said that ‘cause I’m not re-upping again.” Betty swallows, shutting her eyes and sliding her hand over his, squeezing it lightly. “He said that ‘cause I’m gonna be _done_ next year. I’m gonna...I’m gonna be in one place. Stable, and grounded, and,” he lets out a slow breath against her neck, brushing his lips over her skin, “I didn’t really plan on saying this while we were naked, but I’m...I’m gonna be in a place where we can be _us,_ for real, Betts.”

Betty feels the breath leaving her body, and she clutches onto his hand, hard. 

“Where we can be us?” She swallows, shaking her head. “What do you mean, where we can be us? We’re already us.”

“Betty,” he lets out a low laugh, and she can hear his nerves. “We...I’m going to be able to be in one place. And you,–”

She cuts him off, hard. “I’m finishing my senior year, Archie...I’m...I’m the _least_ stable I could possibly _be_ right now. I,” she turns to face him the tiniest bit, raising her brows, “I have no idea where I’m going to wind up in six months, in...” she lets out a strangled sound, feeling like she might cry. “Why didn’t you tell me this _before,_ Arch?”

“Before what, baby,” his lips are on her neck and she shakes him off. “Before what?”

“Before,” she shakes her head, not really having an answer for him. “Before my life was going to be up in the air. I could’ve…,” she swallows. She could have fit him into her plans...but they don’t do that with each other, and they both know it.

“Betty,” he sighs, and she shakes her head.

“We work just how we are,” she says, and it sounds like a lie in her ears. “We...we’re good like this, Arch. We both know that.” She practically hears Archie’s wheels turning, formulating some kind of argument, and she shakes her head. “Don’t,” she breathes, and finally turns herself, facing him. She presses her face against his chest. “Don’t, okay?” Archie sighs into her hair, but nods. “I’m sorry,” she whispers after a long moment, and he shakes his head. 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he says, and his voice sounds thin, pained. “It’s what we agreed on.”

The sound of her words from two years ago echoing back at her makes her heart clutch in her chest, and it hurts more than she allows herself to admit.

_v._

Archie’s been back in Riverdale since the end of October, and he’s kind of enjoyed watching it get colder – that’s not something he’s been able to do, the past few years in North Carolina. It gets cold there, sure, but there’s nothing quite like the feeling of winter rolling in on Riverdale. 

He’d decorated the house with Christmas lights a few days after Thanksgiving, nearly falling out of the tree on his front lawn and managing to catch himself before he really got himself hurt. He’d sent a photo of himself to Betty, standing in front of the tree with it all lit up, before he’d told her the part about him nearly breaking his neck. Things with them have been different, this year – after she’d told him _she_ was the one who wasn’t ready for them, he’d known that things couldn’t just go back to normal as much as he wanted them to. 

He knows they can’t keep missing each other, can’t just come together for a few weeks a year. It’s not something either of them can handle, long-term – he’s not sure, really, how they’ve handled it for _this_ long of a time already, but it’s starting to wear on him...and he thinks it’s starting to wear on her, too. The thought that they’re each other’s when they’re home is nice, in theory...but he wants her to be his _all_ of the time, regardless of where they are or what they’re doing. He’d known it last Christmas. He’d probably known it the whole time, if he’s being honest.

Still, during the year, they’re tentative with each other. They still talk, but it’s less – painfully so, a lot of the time – and it comes off a lot more casually than they’re used to, most of the time. 

Betty texts him one night when he knows her finals are just finishing, and he can tell just by the timing of it (3:18 AM) that she’s drunk. _‘Never have I ever wished my best friend was coming to my graduation (I drank)’_ she’d typed, and he’d let out a little laugh when he’d woken up to it around 4, answering it, _‘i drank too. water, but still. miss you, baby’_ and that was probably as deep as they’d gotten, as close to the years prior.

That is, until he’s back in Riverdale. When he’s in Riverdale, she’s his – that was the agreement, and he thinks it holds up whether they’re in Riverdale _together_ or not. He’s in Riverdale, so she’s his...that’s that. They’ve talked more, since he’s been back – they’re on their schedule of calls, FaceTimes, texts...and he’d be embarrassed at how happy it makes him, except he likes being happy, and he likes his happiness being attributed to her.

She seems happier, too, even though she’s kind of going through it trying to work things out in New Haven. She’s still so up in the air that he doesn’t even know how long she’s coming back for Christmas...but he figures they’ll cover it while she’s here, and maybe they can figure things out, this time around. 

He thinks they might not have any other choice, this year.

He knows she’s home, two days before Christmas, and even though he’s tempted to make his way over to the Cooper-Jones house and scoop her up, he decides to let her come to him. There’s something about Betty showing up at his front doorstep – things usually turn out positive when she does.

It takes a few hours – he’d texted her, _‘come over when alice lets you out of her clutches’_ and she’d liked it, but it’s longer than he expected and it puts him a little on edge. When she knocks on the door, he’s waiting in the kitchen and he practically jogs to answer it, smiling when she’s pressed against his chest before he can really even see her. “Hi,” he chuckles, pressing his face down into her hair.

“Hi,” she breathes, and he feels her weight sag into him. “We need to talk.”

Archie furrows his brow, looking down at her. They need to _talk?_ He swallows, watching as she lifts her face and looks at him, her chin pressed into his chest. She doesn't look like she’s about to break his heart – he knows _that_ look, knows it well – so he nods, but before she starts in again, he gives her a light squeeze. “Want to watch a Christmas movie?”

“Archie,” she laughs, her smile faltering slightly, but he shakes his head fondly. “You want to watch a Christmas movie?”

“With my best friend? Never wanted to do anything more.” Betty rolls her eyes up at him, but stands on her toes and kisses him softly, reaching up and trailing her thumb over his jawline.

“Okay,” she murmurs, “let’s watch.” 

They settle into the couch, picking a movie they’ve both seen dozens of times, Betty tucked under Archie’s arm, her feet folded beneath her. He presses his face into her hair a few minutes into it, and she leans her face into his chest, letting out a soft hum. She seems tense, to him, she’s buzzing with it – a tension he recognizes, but can’t place. It’s like she’s going to explode, or something, and so when she turns to him halfway through, as Tim Allen is guiding a sleigh of reindeer up to the North Pole with his son sleeping next to him, he isn’t surprised.

“Arch,” she starts, sitting up a little and grabbing his hands. He looks over at her, raising his brows, and she swallows, her eyes on his mouth. “I’ve...I’ve been thinking a lot about,” she lets out a slow breath, “about this thing we do.”

“Watching Christmas movies?” She looks at him, her brows twitching inwards. He gives her a soft smile. 

“About _our_ thing.” She slides one of her hands up and presses her fingers to the ‘A’, still sitting against her chest. 

“I’ve been thinking about that, too,” he says, and she opens her mouth to speak, but he gives her a look. “I’ve been thinking that we...listen, I know we said that when we’re _here,_ we’re together. We’ve said it over and over again, but I…,” he shakes his head. “We were together in New Haven, and we were together in North Carolina, and we’re...really, we’re together when we’re home, and home isn’t...it isn’t Riverdale, to me, I don’t think.”

Betty’s eyes are wide as she looks at him, and he has the sneaking suspicion he stole her speech right out from under her. “It’s not?” Her voice is soft, and he feels her fingers trembling against his hands. He slides his thumbs over them, shaking his head. 

“No, ‘cause _you’re_ my home, Betty.” He lets out a laugh and he can hear that it’s wet – it isn’t until he hears it that he feels his eyes stinging. “Home isn’t a place, it’s just _you..._ and I know that’s cheesy, and you’re probably going to tell me you...that we’re not settled, that we’re not–,” Betty lifts her hand and presses it over his mouth, and he finds her eyes, raising his brow. 

“I’m _here,_ Arch. I’m...I packed up my apartment. My lease is up, and I’m not going anywhere.” She bites down on her lower lip, her mouth curling into a smile. “Not without you, at least. That’s what I was trying to tell you. That I’m home.” She pulls her hand from his mouth and slides it around the back of his neck. “That you’re home to me, too.”

He shuts his eyes and leans forward, pressing his forehead to hers, feeling their breath mixing. “Well,” he murmurs, and his lips brush against hers lightly as he lets out a soft, low laugh. “Welcome home, Betty Cooper.”

–

_and the road not taken looks real good now_ _  
_ _ & it always leads to you in my hometown. _

**Author's Note:**

> you can follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bettycooopers) or [tumblr](https://bettycooopers.tumblr.com) if you feel like watching me break down in real time!


End file.
